Dying in Style (28 page)

“I guess burying Saint Joseph worked again,” Josie said.

Almost all the mourners were women. Josie wondered how many had slept with Serge. Next to Kate were three small blondes in black. Any of them could have been Bunny with the sizzling gossip. The little blonde had given Amy an excellent motive for killing Serge.

The minister finished the first round of prayers. The eulogies began. A stocky woman in a gray suit stepped up to the microphone. She was the director of a women’s shelter. “Serge and Danessa were two of the most generous people in this city,” she began.

The tributes continued until Josie felt as embalmed as the subjects. Director after director thanked their dead benefactors, and no doubt prayed that their organization was in their wills. Josie noticed two things: None of Danessa’s employees praised her. And no one cried for Serge or Danessa.

Amy was flirting with the man next to her. The guy’s wife had daggers in her eyes.

Saint Kate sat regal and composed, but dry-eyed. Maybe she’d already done all her crying.

Stephanie looked relieved.

Serge had stirred violent passions—but no one had really loved him.

Josie looked at the photos of Serge and Danessa on the altar. They made a perfect couple, equally matched in flamboyance and flaming temper. So why wouldn’t Danessa marry the man? They belonged together. They died together on the same night.

Who killed them?

Kate? Amy? Stephanie?

Josie thought Amy had the best reason for seeing Serge dead, but she didn’t like the woman.

And where was Marina, the six-feet-two Russian blonde? Josie scanned the crowd once more for her, but she wasn’t in the church. Danessa had declared that Marina didn’t exist. Why did she lie? She had to know that Marina was at her store. Maybe Danessa didn’t want Marina to exist.

Who was Marina? Serge’s sister? His lover? His incestuous lover?

What did she have to do with Serge’s death?

Suddenly Josie knew. She knew it all. She knew how Serge died, who killed Danessa and why. She knew how Olga the shotgunned saleswoman fit into the picture, and why she didn’t wipe Josie’s fingerprints off that snakeskin belt. She knew who killed Olga.

Josie knew everything except where to find the mysterious Marina. But she did have a phone number. Now she needed a cross directory so she could match the number to an address. The people there would lead her to Marina. Once Josie located the Russian mystery woman, she’d be ready to go to the police and clear her name. After the funeral, she would go to Has Beans and use the computer to find the address.

Now there was a plan. Get some hot coffee. See some hot Josh. In the midst of death, we are in life. . . .

“St. Louis lost its two most generous spirits—” a man in a somber navy suit was saying, when the long song of a cell phone stopped him cold. He frowned into the congregation.

“What idiot forgot to turn off her cell phone?” Alyce whispered.

“Er, I think it’s me.” Josie switched off the noisy little device and checked the display. Her mother was calling. It could be important. Josie grabbed her purse and slid out of the pew in red-faced disgrace, feeling the glares and stares of the mourners.

The vestibule was packed with people who couldn’t get into the church. Josie walked toward the parking lot as she speed-dialed her mother.

Jane must have been waiting by the phone. She picked it up on the first ring. “Josie? Is it you?” Josie could hear her mother’s anxiety. “That fancy phone you have is useless. It has every function except how to get you to answer. That police detective—Yawney—wants to talk to you. He’s called three times already.”

“Oh, God,” Josie said. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No, just that you need to call him right away. It’s important.”

Josie saw an unmarked police car driving into the parking lot. She ducked around the side of the church and took a longer look. It was Detective Michael Yawney. He’d come to arrest her.

Josie had to talk fast. “Mom, do me a favor, please. I think they may try to arrest me. But I can prove my innocence. If Detective Yawney calls again, say you don’t know where I am. And please pick up Amelia from school. Can you do that, Mom?”

“Josie, what’s wrong?” Jane said.

“I’m going to stay away from home until I find out something. But don’t worry.” The three words that made every mother worry. “It will just be overnight at the most. I promise. You’ll make sure Amelia does her homework?”

“Josie—” her mother said. Josie snapped her cell phone shut.

Detective Yawney was marching up the sidewalk toward the church, his face grim. Josie backed farther around the corner, out of his line of sight, and bumped into a woman peering through the church window. The woman’s eyes were red from weeping. Her face was wet with tears.

There was something oddly familiar about her. Her outfit was strange. She had on thick-soled old-women’s shoes, a shapeless blue coat, and a Danessa bag with the distinctive diamond clasp. Josie was close enough to see it had the usual Danessa quality problem. The strap was badly sewn and the stitches were crooked.

The woman’s black hair was crooked, too. A few strands of blond showed at the hairline. She was wearing a wig.

She could change her clothes and her hair, but nothing could disguise more than six feet of height.

“Marina!” Josie said.

Chapter 28

“I am not Marina,” the woman said. “You are mistaken.”

She was lying. Josie knew it. She’d heard that voice before.

“I am not,” Josie said. “I know who you are.”

Marina did look like a different person. The chic blond Russian was gone. Now her hair was stringy and shoe-polish black. The harsh color turned her face a sickly yellow. Her lumpy coat gave her a hunchbacked look. Her sturdy shoes made her legs seem thick and old.

But Marina’s hands were strong and young, and her nails were long and polished.

“I talked with you on the phone last night,” Josie said. “I called your home twice. I got the number off the flyer I found at Down and Dirty Discounts. An old woman answered in the morning. You answered at night. I know your voice. You waited on me at the Danessa store. Remember the snakeskin belt?”

“No! I do not,” the woman said and started to move away.

Josie grabbed a hunk of Marina’s flat black hair and yanked. The wig came tumbling off. Marina’s own blond hair was scraped on top of her head, anchored with bristling bobby pins.

Marina lunged for the black wig and missed. Her hand clamped on Josie’s arm like a steel band, and Josie felt the young woman in the old woman’s clothes.

Josie chopped at Marina’s hand with her heavy Coach bag. The Russian let go in surprise, shaking her wrist. She kept coming for Josie, anger lighting her eyes.

“Give me that wig,” Marina hissed. She should have looked ridiculous with her bad hair and her baggy coat. Instead, they made her seem feral, a creature who didn’t abide by ordinary rules.

Josie stepped back, holding the black wig like a dead rat. “Touch me again, Marina, and I’ll scream. There are several hundred people in that church, including a homicide detective. I’ll have him out here in no time.”

And he’ll arrest me, Josie thought.

“No, no police,” Marina said, suddenly cooperative. “What do you want? I don’t have money.”

“I don’t want money. I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

They could hear a cold swell of organ music from inside the church. The memorial service would be ending soon.

“We can’t talk here,” Marina said. “We must go now.”

Josie agreed. She didn’t want Detective Yawney to find her.

“We’ll go to my house in South St. Louis,” Marina said.

Too dangerous, Josie decided. Too isolated. Anything could happen in one of those old brick buildings. The thick walls smothered sounds. The neighbors heard nothing. Josie wanted to meet this woman safely in her territory. She wouldn’t take Marina to her house in Maplewood, but there was another place where Josie felt at home.

“We’ll go to a mall,” she said. “Pick one.”

Josie knew them all. She’d walked every inch of every mall in St. Louis. She knew where to find their hidden passages, security guards and emergency exits.

“Plaza Venetia,” Marina said.

That choice surprised Josie. It also pleased her. Plaza Venetia had the sort of shoppers who whipped out their cell phones and called 911 at the slightest hint of trouble. She couldn’t think of a more secure meeting spot.

“Where should we meet?” Josie said.

“There is a bench for sitting behind the chocolate shop on the second floor,” Marina said. “It is near a little fountain and a side staircase. It is a private area where we can talk. I will meet you there.”

That site would have been Josie’s first choice, but now it made her uneasy. Did Marina know something she didn’t?

Josie reviewed the spot in her mind. She saw the wide staircase with its white banister, the wrought-iron bench, the marble fountain surrounded by ferns and flowers. On the wall behind the bench she also pictured a red fire alarm and a fire extinguisher in a glass case. Both could be used as protection in an emergency. Josie also had her trusty Coach bag, which weighed twenty pounds fully loaded.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll follow you there. And don’t try anything. I know what you drive.”

“You are lying.” Marina turned those feral eyes full on Josie. Lynx eyes. They made her shiver, even in the warm fall sun.

Josie scanned the church parking lot, which was paved with pricey vehicles: Mercedes, BMWs, Lexuses, Hummers and other high-end SUVs. There were a few modest but respectable cars like her Honda. One rusting monster, a 1972 Cadillac, stood out like a bum in a ballroom.

“That’s your car,” Josie said, pointing to the junker Caddy. “The brown one with the rust and the loose rear bumper.”

Marina looked startled. “How did you know?” she said. “You did not see me drive in.”

“Americans know cars,” Josie said. The people in that church would hitchhike before they’d drive a rust bucket like Marina’s, however luxurious it used to be.

“We also know license plates,” Josie said, “so don’t try to get away from me. The minute I don’t see your car on the road in front of me, I’ll call the police.” She held up her cell phone. “Stay off the highway and take Clayton Road all the way to the mall. I’ll follow you.”

The first mourners were leaving the church. “We must go,” Marina said. Josie saw a flicker of panic in her eyes. She felt it herself.

Josie sprinted for her car, still holding Marina’s black wig. She threw it on the seat in disgust, wondering why she hadn’t given it back.

Marina tore open the heavy door on her Cadillac. Josie could hear its dry creak across the parking lot. The Russian woman peeled out of the lot, Josie following. Marina drove fast and hard, but she did not try to evade her pursuer.

Nice work, Josie told herself, as she followed Marina. But now that you’ve got her, what are you going to do with her?

As she dodged in and of traffic, Josie plotted how to save herself. She didn’t just want to talk to Marina. She wanted to record their conversation. She knew Marina could exonerate her. Okay, she didn’t know. But she hoped she could. Josie couldn’t carry a tape recorder to their meeting. For once her silly cell phone might come in handy. It had a recording function.

Josie wished she could call Alyce for help. But her friend was still at the funeral. She’d have to depend on her mother this time. She knew Jane would make her life miserable for this. There was nothing she could do about that. Josie braced herself for the conversation with Jane, as she tried to keep track of Marina’s car speeding through the traffic. She took a deep breath and dialed her mother.

“Josie, are you in jail?” Jane said.

“No, Mom. I think I can get the cops off my back. All I have to do is record a phone conversation with my cell phone.”

“Are you finally going to get some use out of that overpriced gadget?” Jane said.

Josie struggled not to say something sarcastic. Her mother might hang up on her.

“Yes,” Josie said. “My phone will be worth every penny if it works. Mom, I’ve got you on the phone now because I want to start the recording. Don’t hang up, no matter what you hear—I need to record all of this call. It’s really, really important. And don’t get scared. I won’t be alone. I’ll be at Plaza Venetia with lots of people around. Okay?”

“I guess so, Josie,” her mother said. “But what do I do when I leave to pick up Amelia?”

“You can go. Just don’t hang up your phone whatever you do. And don’t worry.”

Josie instantly regretted those words. Jane would have her ear glued to the phone. Well, Josie needed a witness.

“Josie, this sounds dangerous. Shouldn’t I call 911?”

Marina pulled into the Plaza Venetia lot. Josie followed her. “Mom, please. I’m running out of time. I need to record this meeting. Promise me you won’t hang up, no matter what.”

“I promise, Josie,” Jane said and hung up the phone.

“Mom!” Josie screamed into the dead phone. She speed-dialed her mother, but the line was busy. Jane was probably trying to call her back. Josie took a deep breath and dialed again. Her mother answered on the first ring.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said. “I got nervous. I’ll remember this time.”

On the drive to the mall, Marina had brushed out her long hair, put on her makeup and shed her ugly coat. She must have had some stylish shoes stashed in her car. A striking blonde emerged from Marina’s car at Plaza Venetia. Once inside the mall, Marina would blend in with the clientele.

Josie was glad the Russian had changed her appearance for another reason. Marina’s black turtleneck and pants were too tight to conceal any weapons. Her dinky Danessa purse was too small and fragile to hold a gun. Josie felt safer.

Marina may have looked like the other shoppers, but Josie could feel the rage radiating from the woman. The big Russian raced through the mall with long, furious strides. She could see Josie struggling to keep up with her, but Marina would not slow down. As she charged past a cookie store, Josie’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since last night.